


In Case of Emergency Break Glass

by Vrunka



Series: Fire Safety Compliance [3]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, wow none of these are my normal tags eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Sharky doesn’t have time for this. Crooning Donna Summer is doing nothing for his nerves; she’s working the midnight shift and she’s dying inside and Dep is somewhere out there in the night and he is dying.





	In Case of Emergency Break Glass

It takes Sharky close to two hours to cross the county.

Even with panic flickering behind his eyes he manages to keep his hands steady on the wheel. White-knuckled grip as he pushes his truck through the long stretches of unlit country road. He avoids where he knows the Peggies control, mentally mapping the roadblocks that he and Dep have dismantled time and time again; the Peggies like ticks, crawling back after a break, digging in.

He flips the tape deck on, then off again fifteen minutes later. Crooning Donna Summer is doing nothing for his nerves; she’s working the midnight shift and she’s dying inside and Dep is somewhere out there in the night and he is dying.

He’s fuckin’ dying.

Sharky bites his lip, crosses the bridge that separates the Valley from the Henbane. The wood groans in protest, his tires squeal. Someone on the side of the road just beyond the bridge waves to him; just a figure in the dark, impossible to tell if it’s resistance or Peggie. Sharky floors it, ignores them.

He just has to make it to Fall’s End, has to-to-to organize a search party or something for if...If Dep didn’t make it...if Dep made it then—

A flare goes up behind him. Stark and orange in the black, black night. Sharky can trace the trajectory in his rear view, sits up in his seat to watch it arc up and up into the air.

He swallows, mouth dry.

He doesn’t have time for whatever shit this is.

He finds out another four miles down.

Another roadblock, one he hadn’t planned for. Dark shapes. Flashlights. Guns. Sharky eases up on the gas.

Another seven miles to Fall’s End at least.

Another fucking seven miles.

His truck rolls to a stop.

A man separates himself from the group and approaches. He’s carrying a rifle. Sharky thinks of Dep, Dep’s clear eyes over the scope. His fingers tighten on the wheel.

The man is clean shaven, it’s Sharky’s first clue that maybe things aren’t about to go as south as his gut feels. He looks hesitant as Sharky rolls his window down.

“Awful late to be drivin’,” the guy says. Sharky doesn’t know him. Doesn’t know everyone in the county but he prides himself on knowing a lot of them and this one he does not know.

Militarization of the Valley though, that’s certainly something. The Resistance beginning to live up to its name. And why now, why—

“Have you found him,” Sharky asks. He can feel something catch in his throat. Intensity coiling too warm in his chest.

This is when he burns things. He aches for a cigarette; the dancing, bouncing glow of one.

The guy blinks, takes a step back from Sharky’s window to glance over his shoulder at the roadblock. Unsure of himself.

“You dumb fuckin’ hick, I’m not a goddamn Peggie,” Sharky hisses. “Did you find him? Is he alive?”

“I...I mean. I just—“

Sharky could choke him, his fingers twitch on the wheel. “I’m looking for Dep,” Sharky says instead. Stomach rolling over even as he does. Tight and fluttering with anxiety.

“You’re—“

“What the hell is taking so long, Robert?” A woman’s voice says. Sharp. Authoritative. Mary May.

Sharky could kiss her.

She approaches his window as well, places a hand on the man’s shoulder. Her eyes widen as she meets Sharky’s gaze. “He’s not a Peggie, Rob,” she says. Then to Sharky. “I’m sorry. With...with finding the Deputy the way we did everyone is just...”

“Is he alive?”

She bites her lip. She nods.

“Take me to him?”

“Of course.” She turns her head, fingers curling on the man’s shoulder. “Get them to move that truck back to let us through, then close her back up. No one comes through to Fall’s End. Not until we...we have this more settled.”

Robert nods. Offers an apologetic smile to Sharky as he turns and pads off to give Mary May’s orders to the other handful of people manning the roadblock. Sharky doesn’t smile back.

Mary May crosses in front of his truck, pulls open the passenger door and lets herself in. She’s nervous. Sharky had always thought her a relatively unflappable sort—he remembers stories about her getting tattooed under John’s hand, manipulating the man and still escaping the cult’s judgement, rumors, rumors but he can see slight scarring, just above where the neck of her tank top falls, just a little discoloration in the poor lighting of the cab. A sheen of sweat. Her fingers shaking when she braces them on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“Shit, man, don’t sweat it,” Sharky says, surprising even himself with how calm he manages to sound. A counterpoint to the lead foot he hits the gas with as soon as the truck Mary May had ordered moved does.

He floors it.

Next to him, Mary May does not even flinch.

“You found him?” Sharky asks.

He shouldn’t be talking. Barreling down the road at breakneck, zero to sixty to ninety as fast as he can coax the motor. He doesn’t glance at her, but he can just see her shaking her head in his peripheral.

“Man named Colton did. Hunter. Good man. Lost his family to—,” she cuts herself off. Everyone has lost people, has lost something. No tragedy is unique in Hope County. “Jerome got him set up in the Millers’ place. They’re uhm...they’re all dead so...” she swallows, Sharky can hear the thick, full sound of it.

“He’s in a bad way, Sharky,” she says.

“I don’t know what I can do to help,” he admits, “but I’m sure as hell gonna try.”

She touches his arm again. Briefly. Fleeting. The moisture on her skin leaves a phantom itch on his wrist.

Fuckin’ ghosts. Fuckin’ morbid.

Dep isn’t dead. It’s all that matters for the moment. Dying maybe, but found and not lost and not dead.

He eases up only a little as they roar into town. The garish lights of the Spread Eagle glowing neon in the darkness. Turning everything shades of bruise. His brakes squeal as he stops in front of it. A pretty fuckin’ terrible parking job, all things considered, but Mary May doesn’t comment on it as she hops out of the truck and heads at a jog back down the way they had come in from.

Sharky follows her. Wordlessly.

He leaves the keys in the ignition.

He’s halfway down the street before he even realizes it.

The Millers’ house is a decent sized little two floor one block back from the Spread Eagle. White picket fence. Abandoned basketball, mostly deflated, caught in the bush flanking the front door.

Tragedies.

Sharky forces his mind away from it.

Mary doesn’t bother knocking, she opens the door to the home and makes a beeline for the stairs.

“Mary what’s going—“ Father Jerome’s voice.

She stops. Sharky, so close on her heels, almost walks right into her.

“Mister Boshaw,” Father Jerome says. He isn’t frowning but he isn’t smiling either. There’s blood on his hands. “I won’t ask how you heard, I’ll just say I’m glad someone has come to help.”

“Uh. Yeah. Course,” Sharky says. Scratching the back of his neck. “He called, asked me to—that is I...I ain’t exactly sure what all I can do? Not a doctor. Not uhh...”

“He needs rest. Right now, his body needs to settle. Recuperate. Sleep. I gave him a sedative. Had to. He was trying to hobble outta here to go back out and fight the good fight not even thirty minutes ago. I’ve done what I can but—“

“I don’t think he’s gonna listen to me,” Sharky says.

Jerome frowns. His eyes narrow behind his glasses. “Maybe not,” he says, “but it’s better than nothing. Mary will show you the room. Just. Just try, Boshaw. Hope County can’t afford to have him succumbing to gangrene simply because the damn fool wants to galavant off in the dirt with open gunshot wounds.”

“Right,” Sharky says.

Like he can really stop Dep if it’s what he has his mind set to. Like Sharky has any goddamn say at all.

Mary May leads him up the stairs and down the small hall to the second door. A sign hang crooked declares it Stephanie’s Room, keep out, but Mary ignores it, turns the knob and lets them both in.

Dep, sedated or not, is sitting up as they enter. Hands balled into fists. He relaxes, slightly, when he sees who it is. He’s naked, mostly, which Sharky shouldn’t notice, but he does. A sheet covering his legs and waist. Little bloodstains in the fabric.

“Thought you were doped up,” Sharky says. He doesn’t know where to look, his eyes flitter from spot to spot. Dep’s throat, his chest, his belly, the word LUST carved into his skin. It feels obscene with Mary May standing at his elbow. It shouldn’t, Dep’s fucked up and there’s nothing sexual about his nudity, but all the same.

“Fast metabolism,” Dep says. He rolls his shoulders.

Superhuman. Infallible.

“I’ll leave you two,” Mary says. Shuffling her feet. “You really should try to rest though, Dep. You’re gonna give Jerome a heart attack if you keep this up.”

Dep frowns. His shoulders roll again. He says nothing as she leaves, as she shuts the door behind her.

Sharky licks his lips. Sharky stares at Dep’s knees, the bumps of them in the fabric. Neither of them say anything for a really, really long time.

What can he say?

I’m glad you aren’t dead. I’m sorry I’m a goddamn dick.

“Nice uhhh souvenir,” Sharky says. It’s one-thousand percent not the time for this. For him. But Dep had asked for him so...

Dep’s eyes had fallen closed but they flutter open at the sound of Sharky’s voice. He’s frowning still. The word LUST, dug in, right below his belly button. Thick, blocky letters. Swollen and red.

Inflamed.

Dep lets his breath out between his teeth. “Yeah,” he says. Nodding. He looks drained. Tired. The bags under his eyes are dark enough they threaten to swallow his whole face.

Gun shot wounds and burns on his shoulders and chest. And that gouged LUST, so red and so raw. They should cover it, why the fuck has no one covered it?

There’s probably more damage beneath the modesty sheet Jerome has pulled over Dep’s hips. Quarter-sized stains of crimson dotted all over it.

Sharky swallows. He does not know what to say. Opens his mouth to say something, say anything, when Dep cuts him off.

“Guess I shouldn’t have tried to fuck him, huh?” Dep says. Dryly. Hand touching the word so big and so deep in his skin.

“Dude,” Sharky drawls. Feeling kicked and stupid. “I was kiddin’ about that...you can’t...”

“I know,” Dep says. There’s warmth there, a smoldering in his tone. Sharky knows how to look out for good things to ignite and Dep’s tone is a trashcan full of paper begging. “I am too.”

How can he be?

“You almost died,” Sharky says. “That’s some pretty heavy shit, man.”

“So sue me for expecting you to come lighten the mood. You have your uses, Sharky. I like your teasing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. No homo though, I guess? Is that what you want to hear?”

Sharky swallows, he can feel his own throat clicking. Too dry. Driving nearly two hours, panicked and against the wind. The crickets in his yard crying and crying; a noise he hadn’t been able to shake the whole ride over. Lonely and mournful. Dep’s breathing over the radio, lonely lonely.

“It can be a little homo. I did let you suck me off and uhh...you know.”

“Let me?” Dep’s voice doing that thing again. Thick and fond. “Begged me.”

“Whatever, man. Tomato, tomato,” he says it the same way both times. Rolling his eyes. “You should be sleepin’.”

“Thanks, mother, but I didn’t ask you to come here for all that.”

Sharky licks his lips. Swallowing again. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

Dep’s smile fades. His fingers curl. Pressing against the top of the L and the U. “I’m not really sure,” he says. “Did you have something better to do?”

Never, Sharky thinks. “Not really,” he says.

Dep’s eyes flash. Meeting his gaze.

Sharky can feel himself blushing. “Well,” he amends. “I mean like. I do. There’s uhh. Peggies to fuckin’ kill and uhh. Bliss fields I could be burnin’ but...I mean this is fine too. Sittin’ on my goddamn thumb waitin’ on you hand and foot. You need some like ointment or something there? Can I get you some water?”

Dep grins. He tilts his head back against the pillows. His eyes shut. He looks almost peaceful. Whatever John did he left most of Dep’s face untouched. Just a few scratches on his cheek.

The hickey is gone, faded.

Replaced by worse bruises.

Shiny red burns that’ll take weeks to heal properly. Sharky is familiar with burns.

“You weren’t totally wrong,” Dep says and Sharky flinches. Had thought Dep asleep with how even and deep his breathing had become. He cracks open an eye, studying Sharky, even and calm.

The Peggie’s neck snapping in the night. Bullet ripping clean through another’s head. And Dep calm, calm, calm and even.

“What are we talkin’ about now?”

“John,” Dep says. “When you said he—“

“I don’t. We don’t gotta talk about him if you—“

“I want to,” Dep says. Firm. Final. “He wouldn’t shut up about how special he can make me. How if I just...just...would say ‘yes’, you know?”

The only one in the whole County who has stood up and resisted successfully; Dep is special but Sharky isn’t gay enough to say all that. Instead he says:

“Well he can’t have you. That dickweed can kiss my whole ass.”

For a minute Dep is silent. Studying Sharky’s face. “Is that right,” he asks. Sounding smug.

Sharky knows he is being toyed with. Recognizes the edge of what he would call flirting if Dep were a girl. If Dep weren’t lying in a bed covered in wounds that would have killed pretty much anyone else.

Sharky rolls his shoulders. He looks away.

He can hear someone, maybe Mary May, outside the door. The thud of their footsteps, hesitant as they cross in front of it, then louder as they retreat. The creaking of the stairs. The dead family’s house settling around them.

“I did say ‘yes’,” Dep says. Quieter. Also looking away now. Breathing shallow.

“What?”

“It was me or Joey and I...I said ‘yes’. I confessed.” He bites his lip. “And John...he...” Dep’s voice trembles.

Before Sharky even is fully aware of it, he has crossed to Dep’s side. Dep’s hand between his own. Even injured, even weakened, Dep’s grip is strong enough to make Sharky’s fingers ache. His bones seem to creak. Sharky says nothing. Gives what he can. He isn’t good at...well at this. Never has been. But Dep needs him.

Dep needs him. So Sharky will try his damndest.

Dep’s necklace is gone, Sharky realizes it with a start.

False idols, he thinks. LUST: fuck, that’s so good, Shark.

“I’m sorry,” Sharky says.

Because he is. There is nothing else he can say. For once speechless and at what a time.

Dep’s shoulders shake, head hanging. When he looks up there is more color in his cheeks than usual, but no tears. Sharky had expected tears. He is relieved, in a selfish way, that there are none.

He can only handle so much in a day.

“He...he says that I. That Wrath drives my every action. That I am...I am—“

“It’s...it’s bullshit, you know?” Sharky says. Licking his lips. Squeezing Dep’s hand lightly. “Their whole schtick. The whole Project. Fuckin’ loonies, Dep. You’re doing what you gotta.”

Shooting the faces off of Peggie converts. Breaking elbows and jaws when stealth and efficiency are necessary. Raiding their corpses afterward and just...leaving them.

Sharky makes himself go cold to the thoughts. Dep’s particular set of skills that allows him to remorselessly remove obstacles from his chosen path.

“John’s the sociopath here, remember?”

“Right,” Dep says. Staring off past Sharky. Teeth set on edge. “Right,” he says again.

“Hey, no, you listen to me, okay? It’s fucked. Their whole thing is just a lost goddamn cause, bunch of fuckin’ zealots who think forcin’ anyone’s hand is goddamn saving them.” Sharky swallows. He lifts a knee to brace it on the bed. The frame squeaks as Dep scoots to make room for him, without words.

His skin is fever hot between Sharky’s own. Where Sharky’s shoulder ends up wedged against Dep’s; he can feel that same heat even through the material of his sweatshirt. Their legs touch.

Sharky wishes he had taken the time to at least pull off his boots.

But it’s too late now.

“The only force they understand is yours. That brand of violence. Rippin’ them apart limb from limb. If that’s what it takes to get them to back the fuck up off our home then...then so be it.”

Dep’s chest moves with his breathing. Head tipped slightly. Hair tickling Sharky’s cheek. His fingers move in the cage of Sharky’s own, sliding between each, holding as much as he is held.

“That was real fucking poetic,” he says. Sharky can hear the grin in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up, Dep,” Sharky says back. Just as light. Smiling himself despite himself.

“No really. It was inspiring. Cinematic even.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“Yeah maybe.”

The bed, made for a teenage girl, is too small for two grown men, Sharky braces one foot on the ground to better keep himself from slipping. He turns his head. Meets Dep’s gaze.

“I’m an ass too,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dep repeats. Eyes sliding closed. “Maybe.” He takes a breath, pushes it out through his nose, loud, loud. “I like it though, you’re genuine.“ He bites his lip. Opens his eyes. “God, maybe I’m not totally out of whatever Jerome gave me. I don’t...”

“Too tough for that sappy shit,” Sharky says with a wink.

“Oh fuck off.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re gettin’ high off baby aspirin and weeping into your beard, okay?”

“Who’d believe you, anyway?”

“Aunt Addie maybe, she’s always a fan of lurid gossip.”

Dep smiles. He nods. When he breathes through his nose again, his face is close enough it ruffles Sharky’s facial hair. Startling how quick it happened, Sharky hadn’t realized how tangled the two of them hand gotten. Their held hands clasped on Dep’s belly, just above that damning LUST, temples almost touching.

“Can I kiss you,” Dep asks.

The first time he has ever asked Sharky for anything. He takes, he does, he baits, he doesn’t ask for things.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“It’s a kiss, not a quickie. You can say no, I...I’m just trying to figure out where you stand here.”

“Me too, bro,” Sharky says. “Me fuckin’ too.”

But he turns his head anyway. Presses his lips to Dep’s as Dep opens his mouth to say more. Whatever it was bubbles from his throat as his teeth click closed over it, as he tilts his head to kiss back. Soft and chaste. Sharky’s hat is in the way, the bill catches on Dep’s brow, until Dep reaches up and pushes it off.

His hand pets through Sharky’s hair. 

It feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done, which is pretty ridiculous considering they’ve touched each other’s dicks. But it’s there all the same. A broiling, intense ember settled in Sharky’s gut. He likes this. He’s fuckin’ loving this. The way Dep leans into the kisses, small little sighs of contentment from his nose.

Dep breaks away, his breath stutters over Sharky’s lips. Then he lays back against the pillows, entwines his fingers with Sharky’s once more.

“Okay,” he says.

Sharky swallows. He blinks. Licks his lips which are beginning to feel dry and chapped, they don’t taste particularly like Dep, but Sharky imagines that they could.

“Okay,” Sharky answers.

And it will be.

It will be.


End file.
